Denver Moore kept his hood up as he made his way out of The Briar. As a schoolteacher, he preferred not to be seen frequenting a black market trading hub. He wasn't doing anything illegal, but that wouldn't keep people from spreading rumors.
He clutched the pocket of his jacket, checking to see that the four 9-volt rechargeable batteries were still there. Batteries had become rarer than ever, and he had to shop in less reputable areas to get them for his lectures.
Strictly speaking, electricity wasn't part of the curriculum, but Denver thought he owed the kids a fun science experiment every once in a while. Plus, he thought they'd appreciate learning something about pre-war technology.
As Denver walked by the makeshift stalls, the merchants called out to him offering their wares.
“Scrap metal here! Buying and selling!” Yelled an old woman, her voice high and shrill. “Fresh lake trout, just caught this morning!” Bellowed an old fisherman whose beard grew down to his waist.
A lot of the merchants seemed honest, but there were definitely some in the shadier corners of the area that were selling stolen goods. He knew it because of the way the customers at those stalls kept checking over their shoulders and immediately stuffed their purchases into their pockets.
One of the more interesting stalls was that of an old woman selling clothing. She had shirts, pants and hats, but the most interesting item was a box filled with green robes. At first Denver wondered if they were coats of some sort, but when he saw the glint of jewelry on them he realized what they were. Religious garb, either counterfeit or stolen from religious authorities.
Then Denver remembered that being a priest was a lifelong position. And with a shudder he realized that if those robes were real, they had been stolen from dead priests. But what could religious garb be useful for to someone outside the faith?
Denver wondered if someone would want to impersonate a priest, before realizing that it would be a pretty easy way to get the government off your back, as the religious authority was the only thing they respected.
He decided it was best to continue walking when three tough-looking men stepped up to buy from the stall. They almost looked like soldiers, except they weren't in uniform. Whoever they were, he hurried away before finding out.
He tiptoed around the piles of scrap metal laying in the street. Parts of old cars and household appliances from before the war were often sold here to tradesmen who used them in personal projects. Denver continued on, he could see the end of the alleyway up ahead, and he could smell the fresh air. The Briar reeked of rotten fish, and Denver couldn’t wait to escape from the stench. Though Denver figured that if you could deal with the smell and some of the shadier merchants the Briar wasn’t so bad.
As Denver was busy thinking about the positive aspects of The Briar, he was unaware of the sound of hurried footsteps behind him.
Wham!
Denver was thrown to the ground as a fist collided with the side of his head. His right ear was ringing and he could taste blood in his mouth as he tried to comprehend what had just happened. A nearby merchant ducked behind his stall as the mugger struck Denver again.
“Your money, hand it over now!” Shouted the mugger, his face was hidden by a red bandana, but there was a manic look in the his eyes.
Denver was overcome with pain and terror, he could feel blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. All he could do was gesture at the pocket of his pants. The mugger seemed to take his meaning. Plunging his hand into the pocket, the mugger pulled out Denver’s wallet, tearing the fabric of his pants as he did so. The mugger looked through it quickly before he took off sprinting down the alley, disappearing around the corner, his heavy footsteps echoing before slowly fading away.
Denver lay against the wall in shock. All he could do was stare at the place where the mugger had disappeared, not even noticing his shirt growing wet from the blood dripping from his mouth. He was brought back to reality when a hand was thrust in front of his face. He jerked back, cowering up against the wall of the alleyway. Before him stood a man wearing a brown cloth shirt. His skin was dark brown and wrinkled around his eyes, which made the man who couldn’t have been over thirty look much older. The man held a large black duffle-bag in one hand, and his other was outstretched towards Denver. The stoic expression on his face was intimidating at first, but his voice was calm and gentle. It felt comforting to Denver after the mugger's harsh yelling.
“Come on Denver Moore, let’s get you out of here.”
He helped Denver to his feet and supported him with one strong arm.
“You know my name?” said Denver. At least, that’s what he tried to say. His speech was slurred from the injury he had sustained. The other man noticed this.
“Of course I know your name. You teach my daughter Jen. Hmm... looks like you’ve got a broken jaw, we’d better get you to the hospital.”
The man supported Denver as the two of them made their way out of the alleyway. People were still staring at Denver, but he felt much safer now. The two men stepped out onto a main road. In the broad daylight, Denver’s injury looked worse than ever. The man reached into his bag and pulled out a portable water filter contained inside a small plastic bottle. He produced a second bottle from his bag, this one filled with water. He held the two bottles out to Denver.
Denver held the filter over his mouth and poured the water through it. He used the clean water to wash the blood out of his mouth, spitting it out onto the pavement below. Once he had cleaned his mouth he found it easier to speak, though his speech was still somewhat slurred.
“You must be Kennly Marda then,” he said, with some difficulty. Yet he fought the pain again, “Jen’s a good student, one of my favorites.”
No matter how much pain he was in, Denver would never pass up an opportunity to talk about his students.
Kennly smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. I believe you met my wife at a parent-teacher conference? I was too busy with work to attend. Otherwise we could have met under better circumstances."
Kennly's eyes moved again to Denver's blood-stained shirt, and his smile faltered for a moment at the sight.
"Now come on, St. Vincent Hospital is just a little ways past the river. They’ll be able to fix your jaw.”
The two men walked along the road leading to the Eastern half of the city. They crossed the bridge and before long the solid brick structure of St. Vincent Hospital came into view. As they walked, the men passed the time by talking about Kennly's daughters.
“We recently had an assignment where the students wrote about their role models.” said Denver, his speech was still slurred, but Kennly nodded politely and was mostly able to understand. “Jen wrote about you, it was an... interesting piece.”
“Interesting? What do you mean?”
“There was one part I found quite funny. She said your job was to ‘be angry’ at people. I believe that’s her way of saying you aggressively debate with the other council members.”
Kennly laughed, and for a moment the wrinkles around his eyes were insignificant compared to the dimples on his cheeks.
“What can I say,” said Kennly, “You have to negotiate hard to get the government to do anything.”
“It definitely seems so.” said Denver, his voice faltered as a different thought entered his head. “Wait, what exactly was a government official like you doing in The Briar?”
He clutched the pocket of his jacket, checking to see that the four 9-volt rechargeable batteries were still there. Batteries had become rarer than ever, and he had to shop in less reputable areas to get them for his lectures.
Strictly speaking, electricity wasn't part of the curriculum, but Denver thought he owed the kids a fun science experiment every once in a while. Plus, he thought they'd appreciate learning something about pre-war technology.
As Denver walked by the makeshift stalls, the merchants called out to him offering their wares.
“Scrap metal here! Buying and selling!” Yelled an old woman, her voice high and shrill.
“Fresh lake trout, just caught this morning!” Bellowed an old fisherman whose beard grew down to his waist.
A lot of the merchants seemed honest, but there were definitely some in the shadier corners of the area that were selling stolen goods. He knew it because of the way the customers at those stalls kept checking over their shoulders and immediately stuffed their purchases into their pockets.
One of the more interesting stalls was that of an old woman selling clothing. She had shirts, pants and hats, but the most interesting item was a box filled with green robes. At first Denver wondered if they were coats of some sort, but when he saw the glint of jewelry on them he realized what they were. Religious garb, either counterfeit or stolen from religious authorities.
Then Denver remembered that being a priest was a lifelong position. And with a shudder he realized that if those robes were real, they had been stolen from dead priests. But what could religious garb be useful for to someone outside the faith?
Denver wondered if someone would want to impersonate a priest, before realizing that it would be a pretty easy way to get the government off your back, as the religious authority was the only thing they respected.
He decided it was best to continue walking when three tough-looking men stepped up to buy from the stall. They almost looked like soldiers, except they weren't in uniform. Whoever they were, he hurried away before finding out.
He tiptoed around the piles of scrap metal laying in the street. Parts of old cars and household appliances from before the war were often sold here to tradesmen who used them in personal projects. Denver continued on, he could see the end of the alleyway up ahead, and he could smell the fresh air. The Briar reeked of rotten fish, and Denver couldn’t wait to escape from the stench. Though Denver figured that if you could deal with the smell and some of the shadier merchants the Briar wasn’t so bad.
As Denver was busy thinking about the positive aspects of The Briar, he was unaware of the sound of hurried footsteps behind him.
Wham!
Denver was thrown to the ground as a fist collided with the side of his head. His right ear was ringing and he could taste blood in his mouth as he tried to comprehend what had just happened. A nearby merchant ducked behind his stall as the mugger struck Denver again.
“Your money, hand it over now!” Shouted the mugger, his face was hidden by a red bandana, but there was a manic look in the his eyes.
Denver was overcome with pain and terror, he could feel blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. All he could do was gesture at the pocket of his pants. The mugger seemed to take his meaning. Plunging his hand into the pocket, the mugger pulled out Denver’s wallet, tearing the fabric of his pants as he did so. The mugger looked through it quickly before he took off sprinting down the alley, disappearing around the corner, his heavy footsteps echoing before slowly fading away.
Denver lay against the wall in shock. All he could do was stare at the place where the mugger had disappeared, not even noticing his shirt growing wet from the blood dripping from his mouth. He was brought back to reality when a hand was thrust in front of his face. He jerked back, cowering up against the wall of the alleyway. Before him stood a man wearing a brown cloth shirt. His skin was dark brown and wrinkled around his eyes, which made the man who couldn’t have been over thirty look much older. The man held a large black duffle-bag in one hand, and his other was outstretched towards Denver. The stoic expression on his face was intimidating at first, but his voice was calm and gentle. It felt comforting to Denver after the mugger's harsh yelling.
“Come on Denver Moore, let’s get you out of here.”
He helped Denver to his feet and supported him with one strong arm.
“You know my name?” said Denver. At least, that’s what he tried to say. His speech was slurred from the injury he had sustained. The other man noticed this.
“Of course I know your name. You teach my daughter Jen. Hmm... looks like you’ve got a broken jaw, we’d better get you to the hospital.”
The man supported Denver as the two of them made their way out of the alleyway. People were still staring at Denver, but he felt much safer now. The two men stepped out onto a main road. In the broad daylight, Denver’s injury looked worse than ever. The man reached into his bag and pulled out a portable water filter contained inside a small plastic bottle. He produced a second bottle from his bag, this one filled with water. He held the two bottles out to Denver.
Denver held the filter over his mouth and poured the water through it. He used the clean water to wash the blood out of his mouth, spitting it out onto the pavement below. Once he had cleaned his mouth he found it easier to speak, though his speech was still somewhat slurred.
“You must be Kennly Marda then,” he said, with some difficulty. Yet he fought the pain again, “Jen’s a good student, one of my favorites.”
No matter how much pain he was in, Denver would never pass up an opportunity to talk about his students.
Kennly smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. I believe you met my wife at a parent-teacher conference? I was too busy with work to attend. Otherwise we could have met under better circumstances."
Kennly's eyes moved again to Denver's blood-stained shirt, and his smile faltered for a moment at the sight.
"Now come on, St. Vincent Hospital is just a little ways past the river. They’ll be able to fix your jaw.”
The two men walked along the road leading to the Eastern half of the city. They crossed the bridge and before long the solid brick structure of St. Vincent Hospital came into view. As they walked, the men passed the time by talking about Kennly's daughters.
“We recently had an assignment where the students wrote about their role models.” said Denver, his speech was still slurred, but Kennly nodded politely and was mostly able to understand. “Jen wrote about you, it was an... interesting piece.”
“Interesting? What do you mean?”
“There was one part I found quite funny. She said your job was to ‘be angry’ at people. I believe that’s her way of saying you aggressively debate with the other council members.”
Kennly laughed, and for a moment the wrinkles around his eyes were insignificant compared to the dimples on his cheeks.
“What can I say,” said Kennly, “You have to negotiate hard to get the government to do anything.”
“It definitely seems so.” said Denver, his voice faltered as a different thought entered his head. “Wait, what exactly was a government official like you doing in The Briar?”